


Need of You

by TheRedWulf



Series: Roosa One Shots [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Arranged Marriage, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, F/M, Married Couple, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Regency Romance, Roosa - Freeform, Rough Sex, Smut, Victorian, Wedding, Wedding Night, victorian romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-18 15:53:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21279308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedWulf/pseuds/TheRedWulf
Summary: AU - Victorian - In which Lady Sansa becomes Duchess of the Dreadfort...Picset is viewableHERE
Relationships: Roose Bolton & Sansa Stark, Roose Bolton/Sansa Stark
Series: Roosa One Shots [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1469906
Comments: 35
Kudos: 208





	Need of You

**Author's Note:**

> Another one that is short, sweet and smutty. A slice of life, if you will. More Mr and Mrs Bolton, this time in the mid 19th century. I sat down to work on another one shot I have nearly done, but this spilled out instead. Isn't that how it goes?
> 
> For the 300th time I don't consider myself a writer. This is unbeta'd so I apologize for any errors. :D :P
> 
> Thank you for reading!

“Your Grace” the dressmaker curtsied as she entered the shop, brushing the fresh bit of snow from her shoulders once she removed her hands from her stole. 

“Mrs. Westerling, lovely to see you” Sansa said, nodding her head in greeting. She was well aware of what she was, of what the world thought of her based on her name alone. The high and low born alike seemed to treat her as if she were fragile, always walking on eggshells around her.

“Lady Bolton, you are here for your order, yes?” Mrs. Westerling smiled, no matter how forced it was. While Sansa was a high ranking member of the peerage, the respect she was shown in town was genuine but only because everyone lived in fear of her husband. 

“I am, thank you” Sansa replied, glancing around the shop. “And I would like to order a new cloak, and wanted to see the fabric you had available for such.” 

“Of course” Mrs. Westerling looked to her assistant to began to scurry about the shop. “When will you be needing this cloak?”

“As soon as you are able, though it is no rush” Sansa replied. “I believe we shall stay in town through the Yule.” 

Mrs. Westerling nodded, “Of course,” she repeated her usual reply.

Sansa looked around the shop as Mrs. Westerling ducked away to help her assistant, the two women talking softly as they sorted out fabrics and trim. Sansa removed her leather gloves and raised a hand to smooth her fingers over a length of rich burgundy velvet and she paused, staring at the golden and black ring on her left hand. 

She rotated it in the light, watching it with a smile. Once upon a time this ring had terrified her, sent chills down her spine. Once upon a time the sight of it had made her cry... 

She turned it to the side, looking at the skeletal figures whose bony arms created the bezel for the black onyx that seemed to hold no hint of color at all. The red diamonds in the eyes of the two figures, one on either side of the onyx, glittered in the light, reminding her of another time that such a sight had struck fear into her heart. 

_ “What?” Sansa paled, looking up at her father with wide eyes. _

_ “You wed tomorrow” he repeated sadly. “I am sorry, Sansa, but I have done everything that I could think of…”_

_ “So you’ve sold me” she whispered. “You’ve sold me like the furniture, like the paintings and mother’s jewelry---”_

_ “Sansa please” he pleaded, his eyes going to the black velvet bag on his desk. “Lord Bolton is wealthy, established and is in need of a wife---”_

_ “He’s in need of a womb” she sobbed, shaking her head. “How could you?”_

_ “Sansa---”_

_ “Someone brave and gentle and strong, you promised!”_

_ “That was before” he said quietly. “Now, I have nothing left. We have nothing left.” _

_ Sansa watched in horror as he reached for the velvet bag and loosened the strings, pouring the contents into his hand. The sinister black and gold ring glinted in the firelight and she felt faint, her heart racing. _

_ Instead of the beautiful rings with flowers and antique knots that her mother had been fond of, this ring boasted two entwined skeletons, a memento mori of sorts. Their legs entwined to form the band and their arms coming above their heads to form the bezel, all intricately detailed in brilliant polished gold. The ring itself, though golden, seemed sinister and cold. _

_ “What is it,” she whispered. _

_ “Your wedded ring---”_

_ “No” she whimpered, shaking her head and stepping back._

_ “Sansa, please” she thought she heard a hitch in her father’s voice, even as she battled fresh tears of her own. "Lord Bolton is a man of his word, and he gave his word that you would be safe, protected and cared for,” he reasoned, rotating the ring in the light. _

_ Sansa gasped as the red gemstone eyes of the ring twinkled at her, fear settling in her stomach. If this was a wedded ring to Lord Bolton, then he had no heart at all. This mysterious man who would be her husband, was no warmer than The Stranger himself._

_ “There is no other path, lemon cake. All I can do now is to ensure that you are cared for above all things” her father said, placing the ring back in the bag and extending it to her. With trembling hands she took the velvet, the heavy weight of it settling in her palm just as the weight settled on her shoulders. “You wed tomorrow.” _

“Your Grace” Mrs. Westerling broke into her musings and Sansa looked to where the women stood, an array of fabrics on the table. She crossed quickly, her long legs eating up the short distance across the shop and after several seconds she selected a deep, black material. 

“This” Sansa smiled, running her hand across the rich fabric. “This is perfect.” 

“I agree” Mrs. Westerling gave an uncertain smile and Sansa was reminded of how much this dressmaker was terrified of her---of her husband. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Westerling” Sansa pulled a stack of coins from her reticle and placed them into the woman’s hands. She pulled on her gloves and adjusted her stole, preparing to return to the cold winter weather outside.

“Thank you, Your Grace” Mrs. Westerling said. “I will send word when your order is ready, it should be no more than a sennight.” 

“Thank you” Sansa nodded, taking a wrapped parcel from the shop assistant and tucking it under her arm. “I bid you good day then,” she said and strode from the shop and into the snow, making her way back down the street where the carriage was waiting. 

Pulling the black veiling attached to her hat across her face, Sansa walked with confidence down the street, smirking to herself at the wide berth that the others gave her, even as they openly stared. 

She knew that with her bright, fiery red hair and her all black attire, she must look imposing, but in truth she preferred all black and rich burgundy to the bright pastels of the debutantes of society. Her marriage had given her liberty to prefer such and she hadn't gone back once her wardrobe had changed. The other ladies her age would flitter about, fluttering their eyelashes at the other lords in hopes of garnering just a bit of their attention, but she---she smirked to herself, she wanted none of it and received more than she should given her marriage status. 

“Lady Bolton” the voice of Lord Jaime Lannister, the heir to Casterly Rock, called behind her but she did not pause. Footsteps ran up behind her, desperate to catch her and she smirked behind her veil. Silly men, she could have chuckled. “Lady Bolton” he greeted as he appeared at her side. 

“Lord Lannister, I did not hear you” she lied smoothly, never pausing her stride. 

“I thought that was you” he smiled, falling into step alongside her. 

Once, in the folly of her youth, she had fancied herself in love with Jaime Lannister and his golden good looks. She would have done anything to be his bride, but he had made it known that she was not worthy of him, not as her family’s name fell into dishonor and further into debt. His cutting words had wounded her deeply and she cried for days at the pain he had dealt her. She stood back as he married another, a tall, blonde heiress with thirty-thousand pounds a year that would keep the coffers at Casterly filled for years to come. 

“It is indeed, me” she replied. 

“I would know your hair anywhere, Sansa” he said. 

“Lady Bolton” she corrected as they reached her carriage. Wolkan awaited her and hopped down at her arrival, both her and the footman ignoring the usual stares that the carriage received. Like her clothing, the sinister carriage was all black and bore only deep red ‘X’s on each door, drawing stares from low and highborn alike. 

“There was a time once that I would call you ‘Sansa’,” Lord Lannister said, giving a crooked grin. 

“Once, perhaps” she replied coolly. “But that time has long since passed” she turned away but his hand on her elbow stopped her. 

“Sansa---”

“Unhand me this instant” she cut his words off, glaring at him from behind her veil. At her words, Wolkan moved closer to her side, tucking a hand to his waist, moving his cloak aside to reveal a sinister looking pistol tucked into his belt. Wolkan, while intimidating at first, had become her fierce defender in town when her Lord Husband was not at hand. She trusted him and he had not let her down yet.

“Unhand her” Wolkan repeated and at that warning, Lord Lannister stepped back. 

“Can we not speak, as old friends?” he asked. 

“You’re mistaken, Lord Lannister, we are not friends, old or otherwise,” she said. “Good day, Lord Lannister” she extended her hand to Wolkan who helped her into the carriage and she settled into the seat, ignoring the emerald eyes that watched her every move. A moment later, Wolkan ascended the seat and they were off, moving back down the street and towards home. 

Sansa set her parcel across from her before reclining into the carriage seat. She let her mind wander once more as they bounced their way across the cobblestones. 

_ “I have received rather distressing news” Jaime said softly, holding her hands on the balcony of the Lannister’s estate in town. Inside the ballroom, the others danced and celebrated the new year, masks and champagne glasses glittering in the light of the chandelier. _

_ “News?”_

_ “It seems that word is spreading that your father is bankrupt” Jaime said and Sansa felt her smile fall._

_ “Jaime---”_

_ “It is true then?” he asked with a frown. _

_ “Well, yes, but it is through no fault of his own,” she reasoned. “The long winter depleted everything in the North and took my family, Jaime. Only my father and I remain and--” _

_ “It seems that this news has also reached my father” Jaime said. _

_ “Oh” she whispered as his hands released hers. Her hands seemed to float in the air for several seconds before she let them fall limpy to her sides. “I see.”_

_ “Sansa, I have made it no secret that I have a tenderness for you, but my title--my family demands that I marry someone worthy of me,” he explained and she felt pain, white-hot and debilitating cut through her. “I have extended a proposal of marriage to Lady Brienne Tarth and---”_

_ “The heiress” Sansa choked out. _

_ “She has thirty-thousand a year” Jaime said softly and Sansa stumbled back. “She may not be beautiful, like you, but she is far more worthy of the title of 'Duchess of Casterly Rock'---”_

_ “Please, I beg you, do not continue” Sansa shook her head. “I understand your meaning quite well, I do not need to hear more.”_

_ “Sansa,” he reached for her hand but she stepped back. “I had thought that perhaps, just perhaps, that I could take you as my mistress.”_

_ “What?” she paled._

_ “You are to be penniless soon and I can take care of you--”_

_ “How dare you” she whispered, her voice hard and bordering on hysterics. “How dare you!” _

_ “I can take care of you, Sansa, I would care for you” he promised her, his emerald eyes as soft as they had always been._

_ “No” she glared at him. “I would not have you ‘care’ for me with your wife’s money. I would no sooner spread my legs for you than I would for King Robert himself. I am not a whore---”_

_ “Penniless women are often reduced to such, if not worse” his eyes went cold and his words struck her like barbs. “I, at least, would have been kind to you.” _

_ “Go to hell, you bastard” she said softly and turned away, forcing herself to walk away from a man she thought to have loved. From the man she thought she would marry. She walked through the ballroom and to the stairs, summoning her carriage and sending a footman to tell her father that she felt suddenly ill and would meet him at home. _

_ She left the party, sobbing the entire ride home, terrified of what the future would bring for her. The whole of society would soon know of her ruin and she, more than anything, was afraid that Jaime’s words were true. _

_ A sennight later, she became Lady Sansa Bolton._

“I’ll take that for you, Your Grace” Wolkan said with a smile as he helped her from the carriage. She thanked him, handing off her parcel as she made her way up the steps and into the town house her husband kept for their required visits to society. 

Entering the comforting warmth of the gothic home, she unpinned her hat and removed it, tucking her gloves inside as she set them on the entry table. Setting her reticule beside it, she crossed to the study, smiling at the sight of her lord husband behind his desk. 

At the sound of her heels he looked up, the corner of his mouth quirking into a very slight smile. 

“Look at you” he admired her. “You’re stunning.” 

“Perhaps it is the look of a woman well-loved” she moved slowly into the library, running her finger across the spines of the ancient books along the wall. 

“I would not argue” he pushed back from the desk and patted his thigh. “Come, my pet.” 

With a smirk, she ambled behind his desk and perched herself onto his lap, mindful of her bustle. As was habit, one that made her smile, as she sat Roose wrapped his arms around her waist and lap, his thumbs dancing against her sides. He was an outwardly cold man, but his small gestures of affection, such as holding her close at anytime he could, made her feel cherished. 

Before the day of their wedding, she knew Lord Roose Bolton, the Duke of the Dreadfort and most powerful man in the Northern realms, by reputation alone. And his reputation was terrifying. 

Rebellion. War. Torture. Violence. All of them permeated the rumors surrounding his name. She knew that he was much older than herself, forty years old to her ten and eight, and that he had never been married before. He had refused to take a wife, that was, until he had offered for her, before he had offered her father more than any bride was worth to have her.

“Are you terribly busy?” she asked, trailing her hand up his arm, running across the material of his coat. 

“Not terribly” he replied, his deep voice soft and reassuring. “You were not in town long.” 

“I cut my errands short” she replied, meeting his pale blue eyes. “I found the company in town something of an imposition.”

Roose’s eyes went cold, his lips falling into a firm line, “I could kill him,” he said softly. “Just say the word.”

“My darling” she replied, her fingers moving across his shoulder to his throat where she toyed with his black cravat. “Torture is far more fun.”

“I would be inclined to agree. Perhaps” he nodded to the desk where a golden embossed invitation lay. “That insolent fop--and the whole of the _ton_ is in need of a reminder that you are _my_ wife. You belong only to me.” 

“Perhaps” she agreed, her fingers smoothing the warm skin of his throat before carding into his short hair. With a smile, she wiggled closer on his lap and his hands tightened around her hips, holding her close. 

“It is your great beauty that has these young fools throwing themselves at your feet” he reasoned, running a hand up her back. She couldn’t help but sigh and lean closer to him, nuzzling against his beard and letting his warmth sink into her. Beyond the windows and walls of their home, the snow was falling once more, but in his arms she felt nothing but contented warmth.

“Men want what they cannot have, my darling,” she replied, her lips skating across his jaw. “And they cannot have me. While most women of the _ton_ hold their marriages in no sacred regard, I do. They cannot and will not have me, I belong to my lord husband.” 

“And I have had you, my little pet” he whispered, his spare hand coming up to cup her breast through her gown. “Oh, the ways I have had you, have devoured you and filled you” he purred and she melted into his embrace. His voice had always undone her. Even speaking of the most trivial matters, his voice was confident and lyrical, making her feel drunk and over-warm.

“Roose” she whimpered as his thumb ran across her nipple, teasing her. “Husband” she whimpered, kissing his chin.

_Sansa stood on the church steps, her father beside her as they waited for Lord Bolton to arrive. She felt faint, as if at the slightest provocation she would either collapse or burst into tears. Or both._

_The sound of hoofbeats reached her ears as a sinister black team of horses rounded the corner and the black carriage came into view. _

_ “That will be him,” her father said softly and she clenched her jaw to keep from screaming at him. She knew very well who it was, it was the man that her father had sold her to in matrimony._

_Betrayal had buried itself within her chest and she found it hard to forgive her father for such an arrangement. She was not stupid, she knew that after the death of her mother and the sickness that took her younger siblings, that Robb’s spending and the damage to their estate, Winterfell, had bled them nearly dry. _

_She had just vainly hoped that it wouldn’t come to this. _

_The carriage drew to a stop and the footman descended, opening the door and allowing an imposing, broad figure to emerge. _

_ Sansa swallowed a wave of terror as Lord Bolton appeared, placing his top hat atop silver and brown hair before looking up the steps to her. He was clad in all black, the only color on his person the shockingly red cravat at his throat. Their eyes locked and she felt the breath rush from her body, his eyes were so pale that they nearly looked white and the silver in his beard seemed to gleam in the morning sun._

_ She watched him ascend the steps, moving with a predatory grace that echoed through every limb. This man, she knew immediately, was dangerous. Though nothing like the warmonger she expected, he was imposing, wide of shoulders and broad of chest. _

_ She struggled to breathe as he reached her side, staring down at her with an emotion that she couldn’t quite name._

_ “Lady Sansa” he said and his voice rushed through her bloodstream. If his gait was confident, his voice held such easy authority she felt dizzy._

_ “Lord Bolton---” her father was stopped by Lord Bolton who cut him off with a raised hand. _

_ “Let her speak” Lord Bolton commanded._

_ “Lord Bolton” she said softly, holding his gaze. “I…” he reached out to take her gloved hand, holding it in his own as if to encourage her. “I am so pleased to make your acquaintance” she breathlessly pushed the words passed her lips. _

_ “I believe, Lady Sansa, that we are to be far more than acquaintances” he raised her fingers to his lips and her vision swam as she struggled to breathe. She felt the world tilt and the last thing she remembered before the world went black, was Lord Bolton’s arms coming around her and his deep voice speaking gentle soothing words. _

“Lady Bolton” he purred, helping her to settle the growing length of his cock against her ass. “What a sinful Duchess you are, it is the middle of the day.” 

“Please” she pleaded, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I have need of you.” 

“Then perhaps” he move the hand on her breast to her cheek, cupping her face. “You should show me.” 

She pulled her lower lip into her mouth, biting it gently as she nodded. He helped her to move to her knees, settling on the carpeting between his widespread legs. His hands cupped her cheeks and smoothed her hair as she unbuttoned his trousers to pull his cock free.

Looking up into his pale blue eyes, eyes that were watching her intently, Sansa stroked his thick length before leaning down to take him into her mouth. As a young woman, she would have found the idea of such an act repulsive and degrading. But as a woman grown and wed, Sansa knew the truth of this; 

She owned him. 

Thoroughly and completely, she owned Lord Roose Bolton. She watched him as his eyes clouded with pleasure, as his breathing hitched and his hands flexed in her hair. The way his head lolled back for a brief moment before he returned his eyes to watch her, she _owned_ him. 

Sucking deeply, she slid him from her mouth, the tip escaping with an audible ‘pop’ and his groan echoing in her ears. She may be the one on her knees, but he was at her mercy. 

Stroking him a few times, from base to tip, she guided him back to her mouth and into her throat, holding him deeply just as he had taught her. Roose had taught her many things, her favorite of which pertained to their marriage bed. 

While to society at large, Lady Sansa Bolton may be reticent and silent, Roose encouraged her to be anything but in the bedroom. Filthy words, sentiments and sounds became the language that they best communicated in, even in the early days of their marriage. 

_ “Sansa” Roose’s voice spoke gently, evenly, in the silence of their bedroom. She had been escorted here by a maid earlier and she had stood, unmoving in the window, since. _

_ Reluctantly, she turned and met his eyes, easily concealing her surprise that he had discarded his coat, cravat and waistcoat. He looked younger, perhaps, in this state of dress, but no less intimidating. He was her husband now, a man she would see in far more scandalous states of dress. it nearly brought her to tears._

_ “R-Roose” she tripped over the name, closing her eyes briefly in embarrassment. When she opened them once more, she saw that he had moved closer. She glanced to the glass in his hand, wondering if her husband would be a drunkard like the rest of society. _

_ “I do not drink,” he said, sensing her gaze. “It dulls the senses and I do not trust it. Men who lose themselves to alcohol have many secrets.” _

_ “Never?”_

_ “Never” he shook his head, tilting the glass to show her the clear contents. She gave a small nod and he continued. “Did you wonder why I offered for you?”_

_ “I have wondered,” she said softly, glancing to her hands. “We have never met, to my knowledge, and from what my father tells me, you paid far more than I am worth.” _

_ His eyes hardened, “Worth is determined by what someone is willing to pay, and you are not an object to be bought. You are a singular woman and I offered a singular price.”_

_ “How much?” she glared, her heart racing. _

_ “Twenty thousand.”_

_ Sansa choked, her hands flying to cover her mouth as she cleared her throat, “What?” _

_ “A small price” he reasoned. “For a woman with true fire in her soul.”_

_ “Fire?” she frowned. _

_ “You might not have seen me, but I was on the balcony the night that the honourable Lord Jaime Lannister asked you to be his mistress,” he explained and she felt her legs give out, her body sinking to sit on the large mattress. “He offered you protection and you, for lack of a better term, told him to go fuck himself. You know your value, Sansa, and you stuck to your morals. I admire that.”_

_ “You heard…”_

_ He nodded, “I did. I am often missed amongst the shadows. Most do not want to see me, regardless. He was an unforgivable twat, but you---you were glorious.” _

_ “I admit, I am mortified that you bore witness to such humiliation---such foolishness” she laughed, shaking her head and wiping tears from her cheeks. She found her strength and stood, turning to face him. “To think that your first impression of me was as a lovesick **fool**, it makes me sick.” _

_ “You do not--did not love him” Roose replied. “You loved the idea of him. The man is a moron, Sansa, he isn’t fit to lick your shoes.” _

_ “How dare---”_

_ “I do” he abruptly set his glass on the night table and moved closer. “I am your husband and I do dare. You are worth a million Brienne fucking Tarths! A man who would trade you for thirty thousand a year is a fool indeed!”_

_ “Get away from me” she hissed but he stepped closer. _

_ “There she is” he said softly, his voice smooth and without inflection. “Show me that wolf that resides inside your soul. Fuck society, fuck propriety, show me.” _

_ She should have balked at his language, but she felt her blood race and her hands tremble as she raised them to grab his shirt. She meant to push him away, but her hands held tight, anchoring herself to him, “You….” _

_ “I waited forty years to choose a wife” he spoke, his hands moving to slide around her waist. “I worked hard, earned my fortune, and then there you were. I had to have you---” _

_ “You don’t even know me” she spat, still holding to his shirt. _

_ “But I do” he countered. “Better than Jaime Lannister ever could. You’re a warrior, Sansa Stark. No pastel dress or flowery bonnet could hide it, you're a warrior.”_

_ “I am a penniless nothing of a woman” she countered. “Ruined---”_

_ “Never” he interrupted, pulling her close. She felt their bodies fit together, the soft curves of her own pressed against his surprisingly solid form. She could hardly breathe, her body feeling as if it would overheat at any second as she looked up into his eyes. “You’re Lady Sansa Bolton” he promised her. “You are the richest woman in the realm now, more so than the damned cunt of a Queen. And you are mine.” _

_ “Yours...” she whimpered. _

_ “I have killed hundreds, overthrown governments and flayed men alive” he said darkly. “And I will do far worse to anyone who dares to hurt my bride.” _

_ “I can hardly believe myself worthy of such devotion,” she whispered. _

_ “I will teach you all that you need to know” he ran his hands up her back and to the laces of her gown. “All I ask, Sansa, is that you never hide who you are --who you truly are. Not from me. Not ever.”_

_ She pondered his words for several moments as his hands worked her wedding dress open and pushed the material from her shoulders. It fell to the floor at her feet and she gasped softly, realizing that she was now only in her demi stays and shift. _

_ “Beautiful” he growled and she glared, her hand reaching out to land across his cheek with surprising speed. The resounding 'smack' echoed in the bedroom filling the silence that hung between them._

_ Sansa gasped, her eyes wide as she stared at the reddened imprint of her hand across his jaw. She braced herself, knowing that retaliation would come for such an insult. She tried to breathe and watched as his pale eyes darkened and his brow raised._

_ Heavy silence filled the room for several minutes before he raised his hands and tore her stays and shift apart, baring her breasts as the fabric fell useless to the ground._

_ “You---” her words ended as he claimed her lips with his own, his hand roughly carding into her hair to fist in the carefully styled curls. She gasped in pain but as her lips parted, he shoved his tongue into her mouth and deepened their kiss. She had never been kissed like this, with wild lust and abandon, but as he tilted her head and delved deeper, she surrendered to the sensation and melted into his silent teachings. _

_ He walked her backwards and when her legs met the bed, they collapsed together across the counterpane. Her grip on his lawn shirt never faltered, and as he roughly parted her stocking-clad legs with his free hand, she tore the fabric of his shirt down the front and yanked it free from his trousers. His answering growl drove her on and she ran her nails down his bare chest, intending to hurt him but only spurring him on. _

_ He ground his hips against her core and she felt the length of his cock rub against her. Fear skittered through her veins, but it was chased by fury as he grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the mattress. _

_ “No” she glared up at him. _

_ “No?”_

_ “No!” she repeated, using the only limbs she had left--her legs, wrapping them around him and tightening to the point where he winced. _

_ “Gods you are glorious” he said, releasing her hands to shove a hand between them working his slacks open. She stared down at his cock as it sprung free and he tore her small clothes. She couldn’t help but wonder how in the Seven Hells that was going to fit inside of her, but then again it wasn’t like her mother had talked to her about wedding nights and the marriage bed. She could only follow and trust his lead._

_ She felt him align himself with her body, and after a brief pause, he raised his fingers to his lips, spitting on them in the most vulgar manner before he coated his shaft with the saliva. _

_ “No” she spat as he adjusted his hips. _

_ “Yes” he replied, sliding inside of her with a firm movement. Pain ricocheted through her as he filled her, her body doing all it could to squirm away and in the end she fisted her hand in his short hair and pulled roughly. “Breathe” he leaned down to bite her jaw._

_ “You bastard” she hissed, gasping as he moved away only to surge back into her body. She tightened her legs once more, preventing him from moving and he smirked down at her. “No.” _

_ “You say 'no',” he purred, biting along her jaw gently until he reached her lips, kissing her softly. “But your cunt is soaked for me. I daresay it is my cunt now” he said and rocked his hips, sliding easily now. She held to his hair with one hand, the other clawing at his back as he moved in small thrusts, forcing her to relax._

_ Her pain faded to an ache and then she felt so deliciously full that she nearly sighed. She forced her legs to relax and he moved slowly, keeping a shallow, steady rhythm that had them rocking together. _

_ “That’s my good little girl” he whispered, kissing her deeply. “My beautiful bride--” _

_ The words made her angry and she clawed at his back with both hands until he pulled back with a hiss, glaring down at her. “Fuck me like you mean it,” she spat up at him. “Or don’t fuck me at all.” _

_ In a flash, his hands had pulled her arms from his back and pinned her to the mattress, trapping her at his mercy. She felt the angle of his hips change as his he filled her roughly, deeply, over and over. _

_ She watched her husband, this cold, violent man, as he moved over her. His eyes were dark with lust and she knew that she would have blood under her fingernails from the scratches she placed in his back. Good. Blood for blood, she reasoned. Her core ached but it was worth it as she watched him fall apart. Gone was the cold man who spoke his vows. Gone was the man who paid for the privilege of fucking her, he was now more animal than man, Completely lost. _

_ “Sansa” he said softly, kissing her deeply once more. She parted her lips and allowed his tongue to tangle with hers, realizing that he was drinking up every drop that she would give him. Perhaps, she smirked to herself, she was the one in control here. _

_ “Come now husband” she pulled her mouth from his and dug her nails into the backs of his hands. “Is that all you have?” _

_ Roose growled and before she realized it, he had flipped her to her stomach, pinning her to the bed and sliding back into her from behind. His body lay over hers, trapping her against the mattress as he rutted into her, his teeth latched onto her shoulder. _

_ Her hands fisted in the counterpane as he took her, the ache fading into the most delicious pleasure as he moved, hitting something inside of her that made her vision blur._

_ “This cunt belongs to me” he grabbed her hips roughly, pounding into her hard enough to shake the bed. “And only me.”_

_ “Prove it” she refused to let him win so easily. _

_ She felt a hand slide into her hair once more, holding it tightly and forcing her head back as he sucked on her neck, hard enough to leave a mark. She felt out of control, her body shaking and then she was screaming as she lost herself, sobbing and cursing incoherently. She felt faint as her husband’s roar reached her ears and he slammed deep, pulsing inside of her, knowing that he was just as lost as she was._

_ Sansa panted for breath, doing her best as his weight settled over her, his tongue lapping over the bruise he had surely left on her neck. _

_ “I knew you were glorious” he said smugly, biting her ear lobe. _

_ She felt rebellion bubble in her chest as she giggled, “And yet, you still haven’t proven that this cunt is yours.” _

_ There was a brief silence before she felt and heard her husband’s laughter, their bodies shaking as his cock slipped from her body. She felt sticky and sore, but the pain was gone and she knew, deep down, that she fucking owned him. _

Sansa gave a final deep suck and released him, giving a last lick before she gently bit the underside of the tip, raising a brow as he hissed. She only smiled, kissing the weeping tip before she pushed to her feet. 

“Husband” she purred, making a show of running her hands under her skirt do do away with her small clothes. Normally, in the house, she wouldn’t bother with them. But since she had ventured out into the snow earlier, she had pulled on the extra layer. 

Tossing the undergarments aside, she situated herself on the edge of his desk and pulled her skirts up. She moved slowly, exposing her stockings first and then moving them aside to part her legs, knowing that her husband could see every part of her. 

“Beautiful” he moved his chair slightly closer, leaning down to kiss her inner thighs. Sansa sighed, running her hands through his silver hair as he turned to lap at her folds.

She watched her husband as he ate her, devouring her and driving her wild. Roose knew just where to lick, suck and nibble to have her begging for his cock, and she loved every second of it. 

“Roose” she panted, pulling at his hair. “I have need of you” she said once more and he smirked, wiping his mouth on his sleeve as he pushed back from his chair and stood. She could see, as he stood and moved his trousers aside, that he was just as hard as ever, ready to take her. 

She watched as he took himself in hand, stroking himself several times as he moved closer to the cradle of her thighs. 

“My wife, desperate for my cock” he taunted her, running the head of him across her folds. 

“Husband” she purred, reaching up to grab his cravat and pull him closer. “Do not pretend that you aren’t desperate to be buried inside your wife” she rubbed her cheek against his and bit into his ear lobe. “It’s been hours.” 

“Hours” Roose repeated, aligning himself and sinking home, filling in her the way that never ceased to make her feel complete. “Fuck” he hissed, wrapping his arms around her as her legs locked behind his back. 

“There now” she teased him. “Was that so hard?”

“Hard” he smirked, turning to take her lips in a deep, feral kiss. They held to each other, her arms around his shoulders and legs locked around his waist as he moved slowly, deeply, neither of them caring that the library door was open. They were too consumed by each other to stop.

It was several moments later when his lips parted from hers, him breathing heavily as he began to fuck her roughly, grunting with each movement. She held onto him as he fucked her to her peak, her body trembling, voice crying out with pleasure as he moved. She felt her body clenching around his and saw his eyes clenched tightly in response. 

“Come now, husband” she taunted. “Surely you’re not giving up on me now.” 

“Hardly” he growled, grabbing her inner thighs and parting her legs wide, moving deeper. “I promised my wife a babe, and I am a man of my word.” 

“Oh, husband” she pulled him closer, biting his ear as he kept pace. “But you’ve already kept that promise.” 

She felt his body tense and then push deep, pulsing within her as he growled her name, burying his face in the curve of her neck. Sansa sighed as she felt him fill her, loving that his control had been on a hair trigger and she knew just how to send him over the edge. 

Several moments passed as they caught their breath, her arms around his shoulders, soothing up and down his back. 

“Sansa” he whispered without moving. She heard the question in that single word, knowing him well enough to hear the hope in his voice. 

“Six more moons, my darling,” she replied. “Six more and you will have that son I promised you, in your arms.” 

“Fuck” he sagged heavily against her, holding her tightly. “My glorious, beautiful bride.” 

“We made each other a promise” she said as he pulled back to cup her face. 

“We did” he agreed with a soft smile, his thumbs stroking over her cheek bones. “You are perfection.” 

“We are perfection” she corrected. 

“We are” he agreed. “And tonight, at that fucking Lannister ball, I am going to show the world that you are mine.” 

“Are you?” she smiled. “I hardly think it appropriate to fuck on the punch table.”

Roose groaned, “If I could, my bride, I would” he assured her. “But instead, I shall simply be the intimidating warmonger they think me to be.” 

“If they only knew that Lord Stark sat secluded in Winterfell, solvent thanks to you” she smirked, kissing his lips briefly. 

“Instead, they’ll see the Boltons” he wrapped his arms tighter around her. “And I will let them know that _my_ wife carries _my_ child.” 

“Your son” she said. 

“Son, daughter” he gave a noncommittal shrug. “Either way, you’re both mine” he kissed her. 

“And you, Lord Bolton, are ours” she countered. 

“I am” he agreed. “And I am not ashamed of such.” 

“Good” she smirked. “Because, husband, I have need of you.” 

“Demanding she-wolf” he chuckled, moving his lips to hers, both of them passing the afternoon without a care in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr for pic sets and more shenanigans!  
@the-red-wulf or https://the-red-wulf.tumblr.com/


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